whole being, soul and body, cries out for love.
And if a man is at hand then--any presentable man--to answer, '_I_ am
love,' she believes him. That moment came to Sheila--and Ted was
there!"

"Oh," cried Peter, "Oh, surely there was more to it than that! Surely
there was real love!" And when she did not answer, he repeated
earnestly, "Surely there was real love!"

"You plead for Ted?" asked Mrs. Caldwell with a touch of irony.

"I plead for her. Ted doesn't matter, and I don't matter. But
_Sheila_--Oh, I can't bear that she should have only a second-rate
thing, an imitation. I can't bear that."

"She thinks it's real love she feels for Ted. And as long as she
thinks so, Peter, she'll be happy. What we have to do for her--what
you have to do for her when I'm gone--is to keep her thinking that. It
isn't her baffled gift I worry about; it's the discontent her gift may
rouse in her; the awful _vision_ it may bring her. I see so clearly
how she was married--and she must _never_ see! If ever you find her
beginning to see, you must blindfold her somehow. I've often thought
that women should be born blind--or that their eyes should be bandaged
at birth."

"Horrible!" exclaimed Peter.

"No--_kind_! All the creatures of our love would be beautiful then;
all the circumstances of our little destinies noble and splendid. We'd
create them so in our own minds, and disillusionment could never touch
us."

"It's the truth we need, men and women," insisted Peter.

"There's nothing so tragic as the truth--when it comes too late," said
Mrs. Caldwell sadly. "Your grandfather and I found out that. He was
already married, and I was on the eve of my wedding when--it happened.
We might have run away together; ours was a real passion, Peter. But
people didn't do that sort of thing so readily in our young days. They
thought less of their individual rights then, and more of honor. It
seemed to us that it was sin enough ever to have realized what we felt;
ever to have acknowledged it. So we went on with our obligations, your
grandfather and I. He was a good husband, and I was a good wife. Our
lives were cast in pleasant lines, with dear, kindly companions, and we
would have been happy if--if I hadn't, in a fatal hour, seen his heart
and reflected it for him in my own eyes. We would have been happy if I
had been blindfolded! As it was, we'd seen the truth, and to accept
less was tragedy for us."

"You were both fr